866
by bumblebeecas
Summary: Sam is kidnapped and sold into slavery. Can John and Dean save him or is it already too late? Teenchester, Dean: 20, Sam:16 This is updated whenever I feel like it, so there's no schedule or anything
1. 1: Never Shop at Gas N' Sip EVER

The Impala rolled into a seedy Gas N' Sip around eleven o'clock. The sudden jolting had woken up the youngest Winchester brother, who had been sleeping with his head against the backseat window. He glared slightly at his older brother before yawning.

"Whatever, Princess. Dad and I are gonna go pay and get some coffee. Pump the gas," Dean said, swinging his legs out from inside the Impala with his father following suit. Sam rolled his eyes as he stretched and exited the car, not wanting to be awake at all right now. He unscrewed the gas cap and put the nozzle in, shivering due to how much colder it was outside. He didn't notice at first the man staring at him, who was pumping a van adjacent to him. He looked up, locking eyes with him.

Sam didn't think much of it, he just let his head drop again as he waited for Dean. He definitely _didn't_ notice the man sneaking behind him until he had already covered his face with a dirty rag drenched in chloroform. Sam struggled for a second, thinking about how careless he had been to allow this to happen before he slumped against his attacker, unconscious.

Dean and John exited the building as Dean whistled some forgotten song under his breath, his arms full of junk food that he knew his little brother wouldn't approve of.

"Sammy, dude, _I got the goods!_ Coffee, licorice, chips, the works. I got your whiney-ass a granola bar too, before you even ask," Dean said as he made his way to the Impala. Sam wasn't standing outside it anymore. Dean ducked his head to look into the Impala, but Sam wasn't there either.

"Where is he?" John asked, looking only a tad worried.

"I dunno. He's small, he could fit anywhere!" Dean said, commenting on how short his sixteen-year-old brother was.

"Sam?" Dean started to panic, throwing his purchases into the car as he looked desperately around as if Sam was just hiding somewhere. He noticed the gas cap was still off the Impala and that the nozzle laid unused on the cement ground.

"Son of a bitch," John said. "Get in the car. _Now_."

Sam blinked his eyes open after what felt like centuries of being closed. All he saw was darkness, though. He tried to analyze his situation. He was in a cramped space, like a car trunk or something, and his ankles and wrists were bound. He could taste something dirty in his mouth and realized he had rags shoved in that had then been taped over with duct tape so he wouldn't spit them out. He could feel fabric on his eyes, and he knew he was blindfolded.

 _'Great,'_ he thought, struggling against his chains. _'Just my luck!'_

Sam was pushed around in the trunk due to how awful the driver was at driving in a straight line, but Sam concluded it was on purpose. How had he gotten into this situation in the first place? He was just pumping gas and minding his own business. He wondered if Dean and his dad had thought he ran away. Sam was always doing that, but not at some Gas N' Sip at night where he didn't even know which state he was in.

He was royally screwed this time, that he knew. He'd been taken before, by everything from shapeshifters to demons, and his family always found him. But he'd never been kidnapped like this before. How would his brother and father even begin to start looking? Was this even a monster thing, or was this just humans being psycho? So many questions raced through Sam's head that he didn't even notice the car had stopped before he felt rough hands dragging him out. He felt his body land on the hard ground and could barely make out what the voices around him were saying. He felt himself being dragged across the ground and tried not to wince as his now bare-feet dug into the stone dirt drive.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. It smelled like human sweat and bodily functions. Sam tried not to gag since he already had mounds of rags stuck in his mouth and he knew it would only make it worse. He could feel himself being pushed down to the cement ground. Someone had ripped off his blindfold and he could finally see what he had gotten himself into.

The first thing he noticed were the people chained to the wall and ground. They all wore dirty clothing and had glassy looks in their eyes like they could no longer feel anything. This worried Sam greatly. He was strong, but exactly _how_ strong? Naked light bulbs hung from the rafters and they seemed to be in some sort of warehouse. He looked up to his kidnappers. They were muscular men who were taller and stronger than Sam.

"You're gonna be a bestseller, you know?" one said, grabbing Sam from under the chin so he would lock eyes with him. Sam struggled, but the man had a tight grip.

"He's a fighter. They like to break those, you know," another said, smiling at Sam wickedly. He watched as the second man walked to a shelf and grabbed a stack of worn clothing made of some sort of burlap material. Sam had noticed all the other prisoners wearing similar clothing. The man threw them down by Sam, not looking amused.

"This is your life now. Geusedse to it. Rick, the iron."

The first man, Rick, smiled as he walked to a furnace Sam had not noticed at first. He squirmed to get away but the second man sent a kick to his stomach that made him stop. He watched terrified as the man Rick returned with a few hot irons in his hands.

"866," Rick said. "That's your name now."

Sam barely had time to react before he felt the hot iron number plunged into his forearm. He screamed from behind the gag, desperate to get away, but the second man held him down. Soon, the second number had followed, and then the third. Sam had passed out halfway through the second number six.

This was his life now.

"If I was a normal sixteen-year-old boy where would I be?" John muttered.

"It's Sam. He's pretty fucking far from 'normal' don't you think?" Dean spat, looking out the passenger window.

"Language. I'm still your father."

"Yes, Sir."


	2. 2: Sold to the Highest Bidder

Sam woke up and instantly felt pain shoot through his arm. He winced, trying his best to tend to it, but his hands had been chained to the wall.

 _'Son of a bitch. Dad's gonna kill me.'_

Sam looked over at the red-hot skin. The numbers shone like a beacon displaying just how totally helpless he was. He noticed he no longer had his old jeans and jacket on. He was barefoot and wearing the worn clothing like everyone else chained up. It was thin and did Sam no favors against the cold that blew through the warehouse.

 _866._

That's all he was to these people.

 _866._

That's all he ever would be if Dean and Dad didn't find him.

 _866._

 _'Where are you, Dean?'_

* * *

Dean sat at the table in the cheap motel, not looking up from the newspapers he read. He had to find Sam, and quick. He couldn't imagine what those monsters were doing to him.

"Dean, you're no help to Sam if you're sleep deprived. Take a few hours."

"Sam doesn't _have_ a few hours," Dean spat like venom. He _never_ talked to his father like this, but with Sam missing, he was on edge.

"Dean, _that's an order._ "

Dean sighed. He might have been pushing his luck, but he wasn't going to push a direct order from his dad. _He wasn't suicidal._

* * *

Sam winced slightly at the sound of heavy boots echoing off the stone walls. He looked over to the other captives. They shook in fear, which made Sam worry even more.

"...auction at eight. They want ten out, plus 866. He's feisty. Boss likes it," Sam heard Rick say and he looked down at his chained ankles. _Shit_.

He looked up to see the two men from before, smiling evilly at him. Sam wanted to fight, but his muscles were sore and he was a little tied up at the moment.

"You're gonna make us rich, boy. Just you see. Ted, bring him and the others out to center stage. Our guests will be arriving soon," Rick said. Sam tried not to cry out when he backhanded him for no reason.

He felt the chains unclip from the wall and floor as the second guy, Ted, dragged him from where everyone was kept. He looked into their terrified eyes and hoped he would be fine, even though deep down he knew he wasn't.

"You'll make a fine slave, 866," Ted said cheerfully as Sam struggled against the chains and the tight grip of the man. "You're gonna be the star of the show."

Sam didn't like the sound of that.

He watched as he was led through a set of doors and into a room that looked a lot like his old high school's auditorium, except with no chairs and more chains. Sam didn't want to think of his fate as he was dragged to the center front and chained to the floor.

"My Dad and brother's gonna come for me and when they do they're gonna _kick your ass_ ," Sam said, somehow regaining the cocky behavior he picked up from his elder brother.

Ted laughed. "Oh yeah? If they can find you after this."

"They will. They always do. Watch your back!" Sam spat. He felt Rick's rough hand slam against his cheek, sending him down to the dirty wooden flooring of the stage.

"Our clients don't like slaves that talk back," Rick said warningly.

"Tough," Sam muttered, spitting a small amount of blood onto the ground next to him.

 _'Dean and Dad couldn't get here fast enough,'_ Sam thought as he rested his head on the floor to prevent it from spinning even more. He could barely pay attention to the other captives around him being chained up once more or how quickly the auditorium filled with men and women in expensive suits holding paddles with numbers on them. He did, however, notice the gaze of a man who would not stop staring at Sam. He felt uncomfortable and looked down, not wanting to draw attention to himself, though he supposed it was already too late for that.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The auction is going to start. We have eleven items here, with our masterpiece here front and center. Bidding starts at five thousand each."

Sam watched helplessly as one by one everyone around him was bid off like a piece of art or a trip to the Bahamas. He couldn't understand how wicked a person would have to be to buy another living human.

Soon, only Sam was left on stage, and he could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"He's feisty, so he'll need to be broken in, but look how pretty he is," the man running the auction sneered, running a coarse hand through Sam's long hair. He struggled against the touch.

"Do I hear five thousand?" the man smiled down at Sam.

"One hundred thousand," a voice yelled through the crowd. Sam looked up. It was the man who was staring at him before. _Great_.

"Do I hear one hundred and five thousand?" The auctioneer asked. No paddles went up.

"Going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Cherliee!"

Sam couldn't help but groan. Of course, he had to deal with Mr. Creepy Side Eyes. When was his life _ever_ simple?

He watched as his chains were unclipped from the stage and he wa drapped down to the man who had payed top dollar for him. He smiled down at him.

"Oh yes, you'll make a fine pet," he said wickedly.

"Bite me," Sam said, anger flushing through him.

"Oh I'll do more than that, dear boy," Mr. Cherliee said as he leaned down to slip some sort of leather collar over Sam's neck. He struggled against it, but only received a slap for doing so. He noticed the collar was attached to a leash that Mr. Cherliee held.

"Let's go home now, shall we 866?"

Sam tried not to cry.


	3. 3: What's Your Name?

Sam couldn't see where the van was taking him since he had been put in the back, which had no windows. He hoped his family would find him soon because he was unsure how long he could last here. The man scared him a bit, which made Sam angry. Why did he have to be _scared_? That's what the man _wanted_ , and it was like Sam was catering to all his wants.

Sam felt the van stop and his heart started to race once more. He didn't even know what state he was in, or if he was even still in _America_. How was Dean going to find him if _Sam_ didn't even know where he was? Sam listened intently, waiting for the van door to open. It soon did, and he felt a tug at his neck, signaling the man had grabbed the leash. Sam _never_ thought he would ever have to think those words together. A leash? He was a _hunter_ , not a dog. That didn't seem to matter to the man, who had pushed Sam out onto the pavement.

Sam looked up at where he was. He seemed to be in front of a huge house, the biggest house he had ever seen. There was a woman and small girl standing on the vast staircase leading to the double doors. Sam watched as around three men grabbed him and guided him to his feet, which shook a bit since he had not stood in quite a few hours. He was led to the woman and girl, and he looked over to see Mr. Cherliee walking beside him.

"Hello, David," the woman said in a soft voice. She smiled at the man before kissing him tenderly. The girl smiled up at Sam.

"Did you bring a new pet home, Daddy?" she asked, looking hopefully up at Mr. Cherliee. He chuckled.

"Yes, Amanda, I did. He needs some training, but you can play with him soon."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. This girl couldn't be more than nine years old and she was totally okay with the fact that her _father_ had bought a _person_. _Who the hell were these people?_

The girl, Amanda smiled and looked into Sam's eyes like he was a puppy or something. The men holding Sam pushed him down so he and Amanda were eye level. She pushed a small hand through Sam's brown hair, smiling as she did so. Sam didn't react. What was he going to do, anyway? _Hurt a child?_

"He's cute. I like him," Amanda giggled, letting her hand fall. "What's his name?"

"866."

Sam felt himself being pushed back to his feet. What had he gotten himself into? He was directed into the house, which was even bigger on the inside if that was even possible. He couldn't help but look around and notice all the expensive things in the room. He also couldn't help but notice a small girl dusting and the brand on her forearm. 376.

So Sam wasn't the only one. That made him a bit calmer, but not nearly enough.

"Take 866 to the training room. I want to get him ready right away," Mr. Cherliee said.

"My name is Sam," Sam said suddenly, catching the woman and Amanda off guard.

Mr. Cherliee- David-smiled, looking over to the youngest Winchester. "What was that, 866?"

"My name is Sam. Not 866."

Sam felt a rough hand slap his face hard. He looked over to the wife and daughter. They seemed unfazed.

"Not anymore. That was your old life. That life is over. Your name is whatever we say it is, okay?" David said, locking eyes with Sam once more.

"Fuck you," Sam spat.

Another slap. Yeah, he probably deserved that. He felt his head being lifted up from the collar around his neck.

"I don't appreciate such language in front of my wife and child."

"Should've thought of that before you started to buy humans," Sam said, not letting his gaze waver.

Another hit. Sam could feel blood dripping down his face.

"You'll break soon enough, 866. They all do. And when you do, you'll wonder why you even fought at all."

* * *

Dean woke up to the sound of glass breaking. He quickly grabbed the gun he kept under his pillow and aimed it at what had made the sound.

It was only John, who had dropped a coffee mug. Dean let his arm all, throwing his gun aside to the end table. He was jumpy ever since Sam disappeared two days ago.

"Dad, what time is it?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Noon. I let you sleep in. You needed it."

Dean cursed under his breath. He didn't need sleep, he needed his little brother back.

"Any leads?" Dean said, standing to get himself a cup of coffee.

"No. I called Jody Mills in Sioux Falls. Nothing in any states around South Dakota."

"What about Bobby?" Dean asked, pouring coffee into a chipped mug with the motel's logo on it.

"Nothing. Dean, I called everyone I know. These guys are good. They know what they're doing."

Dean refused to believe that the who search and rescue was hopeless. They had to find Sam. They didn't have a choice.

"Keep looking."

* * *

Sam blinked awake. He must've been knocked out after his little riot in the entryway. He rubbed his head, the chains around his wrists clanking lightly. He noticed his dirty shirt had been removed and he laid only in his pants.

"Ah, you're awake. Finally," Sam heard. He looked up to see David, who was sitting in a metal folding chair by Sam. He smiled ruefully at the boy.

"What do you want?" Sam asked. He had meant to sound threatening, but it came out in a tired manner that made David laugh softly.

"You, my dear boy. I knew when I first saw you that you would be perfect for my family. Amanda and Darleen had been begging for a pet, and I simply couldn't ignore the requests of my girls, could I?"

Sam didn't reply.

"So, I bought you. You are a bit untrained, though, so we will have to fix that. Let me just say, it's easier to comply than it is to resist."

"Of course it is," Sam muttered. "That's what they always say. Look, I know for a fact my brother will find me and rescue me. You're gonna be so screwed."

David laughed loudly. "Oh, is that a fact? I'd be surprised if your precious brother even found you. You're not leaving, 866, so why don't you make the most of your new life here, okay?"

Sam didn't say anything. He was half-afraid to. The guy was right. How would Dean even find him? _He_ didn't even know where he was. What made him think _Dean_ did?

"So," David said, circling Sam in a threatening matter. "What's your name?"

"...Sam."

Sam screamed as he felt a whip land on his bare back with a _snap_.

"That's good. _Scream_. What's your name?"

"Sam!"

 _Snap!_

"What."

 _Snap!_

"Is."

 _Snap!_

"Your."

 _Snap._

"Name?"

Sam tried not to let tears fall from his eyes, but it was hard. He was in so much pain.

"Sam."

This time the whip struck him three times in a row. "I can do this all day."

Sam knew he wasn't bluffing.

"I'm going to ask you again. What is your name?"

Sam sighed. "866."

"What was that?"

"866..." Sam could feel the tears start to fall and he hated himself for it. He hated how weak he was. Dean would be so disappointed in him.

"Good. Now, what's my name?"

"I dunno, _douchebag_?"

The whip cut into his already tender back.

"You will call me and my wife Master and my daughter Miss. What is my name?"

"MASTER!" Sam yelled as the whip came down again. What had he done wrong?

"What's your name?"

"866! Please, stop!" Sam yelled as he felt his back receive five strikes.

David smiled. "So polite all of a sudden. I appreciate that."


	4. 4: Try Not to Cry too Hard

"I'm sorry, Agent Plant, there's no recent missing person reports," the small-town Sheriff said, looking up to the Winchesters. "Why's the FBI in Maine anyway?"

"Routine. We go where they send us. Thank's for your time," John said, leading his son out of the police department building.

"Dad, Sam could be anywhere! How're we gonna find him?" Dean asked, pushing back the tears that threatened to fall from his green eyes.

"He's strong, Dean. He can hold on until we find him. We can't panic, though. It'll only make things worse, okay?" John placed a hand on his eldest son's shoulder, who sighed.

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Sam laid his head on the cement floor. He was tired. He just wanted to see his family again, but he was afraid that would never happen. It had been about three days. If his family hadn't found him by now, would they ever?

Sam heard footsteps coming near him and he instantly flinched. He missed when all he had to worry about was passing an Algebra test and hunting down some poltergeist. He missed his dad and his brother. He missed being called _Sam_.

"Good morning, 866. It's time for breakfast," David said as he slid a paper plate over to the sixteen-year-old. Sam looked up. It had two slices of white bread on it.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," David muttered as Sam ate hungrily, no longer paying much attention to David, who was selecting a whip for the day's training.

Sam didn't reply, he just ate. He hadn't been fed his first day, and yesterday he had only been given water, so he was starving.

"Now, 866, shall we start where we left off before?"

Sam had finished his measly breakfast and now looked up at David.

"What's your name?"

Sam said nothing.

"Oh, we're being defiant today, are we?" The whip came down on Sam's bare back, making him cry out.

"Name."

Sam still said nothing. That earned him three hits.

"866, the faster you get used to your new life, the faster you'll be treated nicely. Don't you want that? Don't you want to be treated nicely?"

Sam said nothing. He didn't want to comply with the crazy people. He wanted to leave.

"What's your name?"

"Fuck you!" Sam spat. David chuckled, tossing his whip aside. Sam looked at it, confused.

"You seem too used to the whip, boy. Maybe I should try something more... _hardcore_?"

Sam squirmed a bit, craning his neck to see just what David was planning to do. He watched as David opened a small wooden box that sat on a metal table a few feet from where Sam was. He took out a long syringe of liquid and started walking back towards Sam.

"Don't," Sam said, not knowing what was in the syringe. It could be _anything_.

"Oh, don't worry. You'll be okay. After this, you'll be _begging_ to be my pet," he said as he plunged the needle into Sam's neck. Sam could feel his eyes getting heavy. What was his plan? Make him sleep?

* * *

Dean didn't look up from the computer when his father entered the motel room with lunch. He wasn't hungry.

"You haven't moved since I left," John commented, setting the bag of greasy diner food next to Dean, who didn't make a move to eat it. John sighed.

"Dean, you have to eat. You're no help if you don't have your strength, okay?"

Dean thought it over. He was right, if Dean wasn't fit to fight, he would be useless in rescuing his brother. He pulled out a burger and started to eat it, ignoring how screwed up his stomach felt.

"And anyway, I might have a lead."

* * *

 _"It's all your fault, you know? That Mom's dead. If you were never born, then I wouldn't have to be a hunter. I could have a normal life. I would have both of my parents. Instead, I have to watch my little brother."_

 _Sam let tears fall softly down his face. Dean was right. Everything was his fault._

 _"Dean, I'm sorry-"_

 _"Save it. You're pathetic, you know that? I can't believe you got yourself captured. Now I have to come and save your ass. I don't even want to, you know?"_

 _Sam nodded. He knew. He knew his brother didn't want to have to swoop in and save the day just because Sam was stupid enough to get kidnapped._

 _"Dean, please..." Sam trailed off. Behind his brother was a woman, wearing a white nightgown soaked in blood. He long blonde hair seemed to almost blow in a nonexistent breeze._

 _"I died because of you, Sam," Mary said, walking towards her youngest son. "It's all your fault."_

 _"Mom I'm sorry-"_

 _"Sorry isn't good enough, Sam. Or should I say 866?"_

 _Sam sobbed out loud. He couldn't take this anymore. His family hated him. They blamed him for everything, and why shouldn't they? Every bad thing that had happened to the Winchesters was because of Sam. He was the reason his family wasn't normal._

 _It would be better if he was gone._

"So, what's your name?" Sam heard.

"866."

"What's my name?"

"Master."

"And why are you here?"

"Because I belong to you, Master."


	5. 5: Everything Goes Right then Wrong

Sam shut his eyes tight, trying to get rid of the pounding headache he had. He was currently strapped to a sort of exam table, with his arms tight by his side and his legs unable to move under the leather. If David thought making him see his family disappointed would break him he was very wrong. He was far too used to disappointment. Sam could hear his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, groaning internally. He hated this asshole and he hated what he had said to him after the weird dream interrogation. He'd said what the man wanted.

 _And Sam Winchester was not one to follow rules._

"Are you here for the turndown service, or what?" Sam said, looking up at the man.

"How're you today, 866?" David asked, smiling down at the boy and ignoring his comment.

"My name's _Sam_ , douchcanoe," Sam said, glaring.

"Oh, we're still on that. I see. Whatever happened to your obedience last night? It was much appreciated."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You can whip and torment me all day. It's not gonna work."

Sam had had worse, he tried to remind himself. He'd been cut up pretty bad once from a demon and even taken by a Pagan god. Whatever David thought he could do to Sam, Sam knew he could handle it.

"What's my name?" David asked, his face dangerously close to Sam's.

Sam said nothing. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"What's my name?" David asked again.

 _"Who fucking cares?"_

David only smiled. Sam knew he was in for it though. He stood, walking over to the table.

"You're tough."

"Thanks, it's because of the trauma," Sam said cynically. David chuckled.

"Not tough enough, though. See, 866, I get what I want. And when I don't... well, I always do. No matter what. Do you follow?"

"Daddy issues? _Totally_ get it."

"You will soon enough run out of superhero movie comebacks," David said, collecting a small remote from the table. What was he going to do, _force Sam to watch television?_

He smiled down at Sam before pressing a red button on the remote. Suddenly, electricity shot through Sam's body, making him jump in his restraints.

"Did you really think that collar was a fashion statement?"

Sam didn't reply as he felt the electric currents run through his body.

"All the pain will stop if you just comply, Sam."

"You kidding? I could do this all day," Sam choked out.

* * *

" _You're_ looking to buy?" a woman said skeptically, snapping her gum obnoxiously.

Dean smiled. "Yes. Um, I'm actually looking for a specific... slave."

Dean hated saying that word, especially about his brother. The woman looked unamused.

"Whatever. Got a number?" she asked, beginning to flip through a worn binder.

"Number?"

The woman raised her eyebrows at Dean. "A slave number. Like, _their name?_ So I can look them up?"

Dean hated that. "No, but I got a face."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Alright. You're lucky we snap pics for records. Here, flip through. Call for Cassie if you need help," the woman, Cassie, said before walking off. Dean grabbed the binder and began to flip through the pages, each worse than the one before. All the people in the book looked so sad and defeated. Dean half hoped he wouldn't find Sam's picture in it.

He, of course, did. Number 866. That's all his little brother was to these people. The photo showed a chained up Sam who looked tired. Dean held back the tears, ripping Sam's page from the book and running out of the auction house, not bothering to call for Cassie or even look at anyone. He slid into the Impala a few minutes later, finally deciding to break down.

"Dean, what's wrong? Was he there?"

Dean said nothing, just handed his father the page and put his face in his hands, trying his best to cry quietly. The seriousness of their situation was dawning roughly on Dean. Someone had bought his brother. There was a chance where they might never see him again and Dean only blamed himself. _He_ had told Sam to pump the gas. _He_ had been the one to leave him alone.

"Dean, we'll find him."

"How? There's no address. Just a name, and what if that's not even the dude's real name? Dad this is all my fault!"

"Dean, this isn't your fault!"

Dean didn't believe him. Who else was to blame for this besides Dean?

* * *

"It would be so much easier if you behaved," David said, smiling at Sam's shaking body.

"Bold of you to assume I like it easy," Sam said in a whisper. The shocks had really taken a lot out of him and he was beginning to feel tired out.

"You're weak, 866. You won't make it if you continue down this road of disobedience."

"I rather be dead than your slave!" Sam yelled.

Suddenly, David leaned down, inches from Sam's face. "Listen here, _punk_. You're _lucky_ I bought you. You could've been bought for labor or sex, but here I treat you nicely. When will you see that?"

"When you let me go!" Sam said.

David laughed. "I paid top dollar for you, boy. You're mine. And the sooner you see that, the better!"

Sam squirmed against the restraints as David came back with another syringe. "Yeah, like that worked so well before!"

"Oh, this one is different. This targets the decision making part of the brain. You'll be a prisoner in your own body, 866. Now, don't you wish you listened the first time?"

Sam tried breaking free but it was no use. David had plunged the needle into his forehead.


	6. 6: Trapped

"David Cherliee. That name mean anything?"

Dean was lying on the ground, looking up at the ugly yellow ceiling in the crappy motel room he was staying in. They _had_ to find Sam. They were so close, yet Sam was still out of reach. It had been two weeks and Dean was going to go crazy if he couldn't find his brother soon.

"No. Why?" Bobby said on the other end of the phone. Dean sighed.

"It's the guy that... that bought Sam. Can't you get Jody to do a scan or something? We need an address."

Bobby didn't say anything for a minute, but Dean could hear papers rustling on the other end. Finally, Bobby spoke.

"I'm gonna call her. Don't worry."

Dean hung up, not bothering with a goodbye. The only thing people told him was not to worry. He was twenty-years-old, he wasn't a child that needed to be reassured. And why shouldn't he worry? It was _his_ little brother on the line. It was _his_ fault. It was _his_ job to look after Sam and he had failed him.

"Sammy, we're gonna find you and kick that douchebag's ass."

* * *

Sam awoke still restrained on the table. He couldn't move anything except his eyes, which darted around frantically. He was sore like he had been on the table for days. He could feel a cold wetness on his pants and realized he had wet himself while tied up, making him blush in embarrassment. He soon heard footsteps descending the staircase and tensed.

"866, it seems we had an accident," David said in a voice that you would usually use to talk to children. Sam squirmed against the restraints.

"How's the head?"

"Fine," Sam said without thinking. It was like he couldn't control what he was saying. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Good. What's my name?" David tried, smiling at Sam.

"Master," Sam said, confused again. That wasn't what he wanted to say! It was like he was a passenger in his body instead of the pilot.

"I see it worked, 866. That doctor was right. Very innovative," David said, removing the restraints. Sam made no move to fight or escape, even though deep down he tried. What was happening?

"Now, go get cleaned up."

Sam stood, walking to the bathroom. He had no control over his legs. He was trapped in his own body! He recalled the syringe. No, _that wasn't possible_ , it wasn't possible to mind control a person with drugs, was it? Sam had no control over what his limbs did as he watched helplessly as they turned on the shower and undressed his body.

What had _happened_ to him?

* * *

Sam watched as the world moved around him, unable to physically react to anything. He was at the mercy of this family. He was trapped with only his thoughts. He knew if he wasn't rescued soon he would go mad. He allowed himself to be led up the basement stairs, though it wasn't like he really had a choice.

When Sam surfaced, he saw the little girl. She looked happy as Sam walked up, his eyes emotionless.

"Daddy, is he trained?" she asked, going to touch Sam's arm. He didn't move. He couldn't.

"Yes dear, he is. He's ready. Why don't you take him upstairs? Pick something out for him to wear. Lunch will be ready soon."

Amanda squealed with delight as she took hold of Sam's hand and dragged him up the expansive staircase. He couldn't dig his heels into the carpet or struggle. He just had to let everything happen. He no longer could make any choices for himself. He felt a single tear fall down his cheek. So maybe he could control _some_ things.

"Don't cry! It's okay!" Amanda said, smiling up at Sam as she led him into a huge room decorated in shades of pink. He assumed this was her room.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to a footstool. Sam sat, watching the girl as she moved to a closet full of dress-up type clothes.

"How do you feel about dresses?" Amanda asked from deep in the closet.

* * *

"Dean I found an address!"

Dean threw the papers aside, running over to the laptop. He let the cell phone rest on his shoulder as he frantically typed. "Tell me, tell me!"

Bobby repeated the address as Dean typed it into the map site. It was four hours away from the motel. Three if he sped.

"Thank you!" Dean hung up the phone, looking at his dad with a hint of tears in his eyes.

"Let's go get Sammy."


	7. 7: No Escape From Reality

(When the original is deleted because your computer freaks out so you have to rewrite the chapter but the new one is better so it doesn't really matter lol fml)

* * *

Sam had no idea that his family was currently driving across three states to bring him home. He had no idea that at that very moment John Winchester was disobeying every speed limit sign here to Wyoming. He had no idea Dean was seriously about to start praying if they didn't get him back (and let it be known that Dean Winchester is not a religious man).

Sam had no idea that the control drug only lasted a bit of time.

How fortunate that the weird Black Mirror shit had left his system. Sometimes good thing happened to unlucky kidnapped boys in God Know's Where, Alabama or whatever state they were residing in.

Sam found this out (the drug thing, not the location of the mansion) when he was sat at the dining room table with the family for lunch and wearing a pale pink dress with silky tights and pointed shoes to match, his longish hair put up with a pink bow. Amanda was very proud of her fashion expertise. Sam was not.

Sam was just trying not to die on the inside. He was just trying to just let Amanda spoon feed him applesauce. He was just trying to hold on for a little bit longer because his family had to be out there looking for him. They had to.

Amanda had dropped the spoon (not her fault, of course, she was nine and a bit clumsy) and Sam had caught it before it could splatter on her dress, not even thinking about it. He was just that kind to nine-year-old girls.

The entire table looked at him, waiting for him to throw a punch. Waiting for him to fight or yell or run.

Instead, Sam handed the spoon back to Amanda and remained in his seat, looking at David as if he was awaiting instructions. He had a plan.

The Winchester was smart. Cursed, but smart. They were smart inarguably because they were cursed. Sam may have only been sixteen years old, but he wasn't an idiot. He had faith in his family finding him, and he had to stay alive before they came.

He had to play along and survive. That is how you win the game. You make the enemy think they have you, and at the last second, you throw them off their rhythm. God, Sam was starting to sound like that John Mulaney Street Smarts sketch. It made him smile a little bit.

"866, the drug has worn off. Can I trust you to behave yourself?" David asked.

Sam, swallowing back his pride (honestly, it had gone out the window the minute he was put in a dress) and replied.

"Yes, Master."

* * *

"What's taking so long?" Dean mumbled, cursing under his breath. He knew the Impala needed gas and that they needed food, but all he wanted was to get to Sam as soon as he possibly could. He even tried to get John to take a plane, which was bold for Dean since he was deathly afraid of them. He would do anything for his brother.

Dean looked up from the worn map to see John return from inside of the gas station, his arms full with food. Dean felt sick. What is Sam hadn't been fed? What was Sam eating, if he ever was?

God, they needed to get that kid back so Dean could stop worrying from a distance.

"You have to keep your strength up, Dean. You'll be no use to Sammy if you're tried."

Dean said nothing but did take a Slim Jim and unroll it. He didn't really care about what he was eating. He was more focused on how many more miles they had to go before reaching the youngest Winchester.

"Let's go," John said, starting up the Impala and speeding off down the dirt road.

* * *

Sam's room was not as bad as he thought it would be (though David did warn him about a "punishment room" which Sam did not care to ever see). It was small, but not like a closet or something. It was just a bedroom on the small side. The room was rather simple, and Sam didn't really care that much. He wasn't going to be here long enough.

The metal-framed bed was made with a simple blanket and pillow set. There was a nightstand with a pitcher and a glass. There was a small desk with a wooden chair. One window let some natural light in, but David informed him it was sealed shut so he shouldn't try anything. A small dresser was pushed against the wall and on top of it was a stuffed bear, obviously from Amanda, who giggled when Sam noticed it.

The only unsettling thing in the room was really the leather straps attached to the bed, ready to restrain Sam if needed.

"The dresser will have your night clothes, play clothes, and special occasion outfits. They will be replaced every day, so there will always only be one outfit that you must wear. Shoes are in the bottom drawer. You will have a strict schedule, most of it being taken up by playing with Amanda. You will have a few chores, but not as much as the others. I want your main focus to be making my girls happy. If Darleen needs you, you come and help.

"You will eat meals with us, unlike the others who eat together. You will do everything I, Darleen, or Amanda says. You will wear, eat, do, and say what we want you to. The bathroom is in that room there," David pointed to a closed door Sam had not noticed at first.

"I hope I can trust you to wash yourself."

Sam nodded. "Yes, Master." He was still trying to process "play clothes" and "Darleen" needing him. What could she possibly need from a teenage boy? Sam tried not to let his mind into the gutter on that one.

David smiled softly. "Good. Go to sleep. 235 will be here to wake you. You will wear what she delivers and she will take your night clothes to be washed."

"Goodnight!" Amanda hugged Sam around the waist and he tensed, looking at David hesitantly. The man nodded strictly and Sam took that as a sign to softly pat her shoulders in an awkward hug-thing. He was never good at this whole "kid" thing.

With that, both David and Amanda left, and the door shut behind them. Sam could swear he head the sound of a lock turning seconds after.

Perhaps he was imagining things. Or perhaps, he was way over his head. Definitely was over his head...


	8. 8:As I Cried Out, Like in Latin!

Dean had fallen asleep somewhere around the time the Impala had rolled into Kentucky. John wanted to keep driving through the night, and he knew Dean did too, but he was close to falling asleep at the wheel, and he would be no use to Sam dead or in the hospital.

"Dean, get up," John said, shutting the car off in the parking lot of a seedy motel.

"Hmmgh. Are we at Sammy yet?" Dean mumbled, stretching his arms out tiredly.

"No. We have to sleep."

Dean glared over at his father. "I can drive if you're getting sleepy-"

"Dean, no. We have to keep our strength up. Go get some sleep on a proper bed for once."

Dean didn't need to be told that it was an order. He knew. So he obeyed.

* * *

Sam woke up the next morning to a small scratching sound by his dresser. Years of hunting experience made him grab the glass on the nightstand, ready to strike.

It was a scared girl in a worn dress who nearly cried when she saw Sam and his glass weapon. He hurried to put it down.

"I'm really sorry! Occupational hazard!"

The girl said nothing, but looked less freaked out. Sam noticed a 235 brand on her arm.

"Oh. You're 235, I guess. I'm Sa- 866."

The girl still said nothing. She shut the drawer and left the room. Sam could hear the door lock again.

Oh boy.

With the strange girl out of the room, Sam walked over to the dresser where he was supposed to retrieve his clothes for the day. He wasn't expecting... well, what he saw...

It was a T-shirt with a childish design on it, and overall shorts that matched the design on the shirt. The socks were the type that had the rubber bits on the bottom to keep kids from slipping. No shoes.

'Okay,' Sam thought. 'Better than a dress, remember that.'

Sam collected all the clothing half-heartedly and treaded to the bathroom to wash up before 235 got back. He didn't really feel comfortable with her. It was a weird and unsafe feeling, like anything he did wrong would be reported back to Mas- David. Sam had to survive, and surviving meant playing by the enemy's rules.

The bathroom was fine. Everything was fine and that's what made Sam so nervous. Why was everything so fine? Why were things relatively calm?

There was soap and such already in the shower, so Sam quickly cleaned himself and wrapped a towel around his waist, beginning to go through the clothing until he noticed something off.

There was no underwear.

Sam was praying these weren't some sickos or something, and thinking that maybe he missed something and had to provide his own before there was a tap at the door.

235.

Was she setting him up for failure by not providing everything? Or was it just a mistake? Sam was too paranoid to care much as he opened the door.

There was no one there.

What the fuck?

Sam stepped out, still gripping the towel tightly, peaking his head out. The dresser was different. It was open. Sam could have sworn he closed it. He walked over, looking towards the door as he did. There was no one there and it was closed. This place was getting less fine by the very second. He carefully walked towards the dresser, opening the top door and praying they were boxers.

No.

Oh hell no.

What the fuck?

No, actually, what the fuck?

It was a pull up just Sam's size.

"866, we're not going to rebel, are we?" said a voice that made Sam jump, almost losing his grip on his towel.

David stood in the open doorway, smiling. God, he knew. He knew this would get Sam into a frenzy and make him rebel. He wanted to beat Sam to a bloody pulp.

'God, Dean will not let me live this one down,' Sam thought ruefully.

"No, Sir," Sam said, looking down so he didn't have to lock eyes with the older man.

"Really? Put it on right in front of me, then," David said and Sam blushed a deep red.

Why? Why him?

"But Sir-"

"Now."

Sam carefully peeled his towel away, embarrassed that he was so exposed as he picked the pull put again, doing his best not to glare at it as he willfully slid it up his legs, David watching the entire time.

"Now get the rest of your clothes on. We don't have all day."

Sam tried not to cry.


	9. 9: Under Pressure

Breakfast was relatively normal for Sam, as he sat next to Amanda who was happily munching on a bowl of Cheerios. He had taken only a few bites of his mushy oatmeal. He was too nervous to be hungry.

"866. Eat or be punished," David said, glaring at him from a cup of coffee that Sam longed to have.

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled, taking a bite of the lukewarm meal, praying that Dean was on his way to the rescue. He didn't know how much he could handle this shit.

"When you're finished, go with Amanda. _Don't_ keep her waiting."

This was the first time Sam had heard Mrs. Cherliee talk to his directly. It was a bit off-putting and nerve-wracking so he quickly finished the sloppy oatmeal and followed the younger girl to her bedroom, trying to ignore 235 staring at him as she collected her bowl.

"I've always wanted a little brother," Amanda smiled, opening the door. "But I don't like your name. Hmm. I'll call you Alexander. Alex for short."

Sam said nothing, just let Amanda lead him to the play kitchen again, hoping to God she wasn't going to put him back in a dress.

"I'm nine and you're five! You have to wear pull-ups cause you're still bad at potty training!" Amanda said delightfully.

She shoved Sam down into a pink plastic chair and put a sippy cup of juice in front of him. "Babies can't have tea yet," she explained, taking a sip of fake tea from her tea cup.

Sam didn't touch the cup. He just stared at it, which seemed to annoy Amanda.

"Alex! Drink your juice! Or I'll tell Daddy and he'll give you a spanking.

Sam quickly grabbed the childish cup and began to suck. The juice tasted a bit weird, but he chalked that up to not having drank any juice in a long time. Amanda stared at him until he had finished the entire cup.

Satisfied, she continued to drink her fake tea. "I go to school. I know you don't, because you're so little, but I can add now."

"Great," Sam said, not really knowing what else to say to that.

Then the horrible happened.

Sam had to pee.

"Um... Amanda-"

"How do you know how to say my full name, little brother? You call me 'Manda!"

Sam blushed a deep red. "Um... 'Manda. I have to-"

Amanda shook her head. "You're talking to grown up. Say ''Manda I havta potty.'"

Sam gritted his teeth. She'd put something in that damn drink.

"'Manda," Sam started, glad that Dean wasn't here to witness this, but also praying that he was close by. "I havta potty."

Amanda laughed. "You use your pull-up like the little baby you are!"

Suddenly, Amanda was up and had Sam pinned to the ground. He could have easily over-powered her, but the last thing he needed was David having an excuse to beat him. Work smarter, not harder.

Amanda was pushing on his bladder as he squirmed, trying to get her off him in the nicest way possible.

"Amanda! Stop-"

Sam felt himself lose control, peeing in the pull-up like the five-year-old he was apparently supposed to be.

Amanda, satisfied, got off him, looking joyfully down at him. You could tell he had wet the pull-up as it bulged even move beneath the overalls.

"Wow, Alex, that's a lot of pee. Maybe we should switch you back to diapers. I would change you, but you said 'Amanda' and not ''Manda', so you can sit in it for now. Now let's play dolls."


	10. 10: Burning Through the Sky

Dean Winchester woke up groggily, not exactly remembering where the hell he was.

"Sam?"

He sat up in the cheap motel bed, looking towards the other bed. It was odd, since Dean always slept in the one closest to the door, not Sam. But Sam wasn't in the bed. In fact, no one was in the bed, but the sheets appeared to be slept in.

"Morning, Dean," John said from Sam's laptop that laid open on the table.

Dean's heart sank. He remembered, they were looking for Sam. And they had to be close. Dean couldn't take much more of this running around and worrying. He just wanted his little brother back. Was that so much to ask?

"We're leaving in ten. I was waiting for you to wake-"

"Well, next time just wake me up, damn it! I'm not gonna find Sammy sleeping in!"

Before John could interject, Dean had disappeared into the bathroom with his duffle bag, not even daring to look his father in the eyes, who sighed and closed the computer softly.

The eldest Winchesters were back on the road in five minutes. They were so close to Sammy, Dean could almost taste it. The address for one David Cherliee was twenty minutes away and Dean was already opening and closing his pocket knife nervously with anticipation. John's eyes were glued to the road, looking for the mansion.

They found it at the end of a gravel road, looking high and mighty upon a grassy hill. John parked the Impala a half mile away as to not cause suspicion.

"Now, Dean. Just remember, whatever condition Sammy is in, we can't lose our cool, okay?"

Dean nodded, but he wasn't paying that much attention to his dad as he opened the back of the Impala. Sam was the closest he had been since being taken and Dean was damned if he was going to keep his cool at risk of losing his brother a second time.

John passed Dean a pistol, which he tucked into the waistband of his ragged jeans. Nothing was going to stop Dean from rescuing his little brother.

Sam sat stilly, watching David from the corner of the room. The punishment room.

"Amanda tells me you weren't playing nice, 866," the older man mused, running a knife softly against the palm of his hand in a threatening fashion.

"Look, man, I'm sor-"

The knife was plunged into Sam's thigh, right through the childish overalls. Sam yelped, not expecting the attack at all.

"If I wanted to hear you run your fucking mouth," David said, getting close into Sam's face, so close that the younger man could smell his breath and feel it hot against his skin. "I would have asked for it!"

The knife was viciously yanked out of Sam's thigh, which hurt ever more than when it went in. Sam's hands, though handcuffed together, put as much pressure as possible on the new wound.

"Maybe I should keep you down here, locked up in that wet pull-up, soaking in it until you learn your lesson, 866. Huh, would you like that? Sitting in the wet and stinky mess you made yourself, feeling it grow cold against your cock as you wiggled and begged to be released? Getting a bright red rash? Maybe I would have to kiss it better for you, huh?"

Sam glared his eyes. "You're one sick fuck, you know that?"

David's eyes darkened. He went to strike Sam again, but was stopped suddenly stopped when an alarm sounded throughout the room.

"Someone's here and they weren't invited."

David walked across to the table where all his favorite toys laid and grabbed a gag that looked suspiciously like a pacifier. He forcefully shoved it into Sam's mouth and buckled it behind his head, making sure it was tight.

"Now you just wait here and Daddy will take care of all the bad men."

Sam screamed behind the gag, but couldn't be heard over the alarm as David ascended up the stairs from the basement punishment room, leaving Sam in complete darkness.

When Dean Winchester had kicked in the fancy door of his brother's prison, he wasn't expecting to see a terrified middle-aged woman, but he did. And, because he was so taken aback that a man who buys people off the black market could ever find love, she hit the panic alarm before he could shoot her dead.

But, that didn't matter much now since she was bleeding profusely into the beautifully clean white carpeting and Dean had just single-handedly knock a couple thousand dollars off the listing price of the mansion.

"Next time, maybe before she hits any buttons, Dean," John said sarcastically, which Dean shrugged off. He looked over to the staircase and saw a young girl around nine ot ten. The two made eye contact and she ran. Dean felt a little bad for murdering her mother in front of her, but it was nothing a bit of therapy couldn't fix.

The house was massive, but that wasn't what Dean was worried about at that moment. No, he was worried about the alarm and what kind of people it would produce. But the Winchesters did not have time to sit around, so they walked slowly through the first floor, opening up doors roughly as they passed.

"I don't remember inviting you, you know," said a voice from behind them. The men turned quickly, aiming their guns at the man.

"You must be David Cherliee. Now give me back my son," John growled.

David laughed. "Oh, no. I don't think I will."

Dean shot David in the knee, sending him to the ground in pain. "Oh, yes. I do think you will. I already murdered that wife of yours. Saw a little girl earlier. Your daughter? Hate to kill her too."

David's eyes grew wide. "No. Not Amanda, please. The basement! The basement he's in the basement!"

John nodded at Dean, moving his gun against David's head as a warning as Dean ventured down the stairs.

"Sammy?" Dean called, flicking his flashlight on in the dark room.

"Sam? It's me. Sammy!"

Dean got to the end of the stairs. He realized Sam probably couldn't hear him because of the alarm. Dean shined the light on the wall, looking for a light switch. Finding one, he flicked it one, engulfing the basement in bright light.

"Sammy?"

Sam was down there all right, but Dean didn't like what he saw. Sam was chained to the floor by his ankles and wrists. He had a gag shoved in his mouth that resembled a pacifier. His hair was matted against his head with sweat. He had bruises and cuts all over his body, and his thigh seemed to be bleeding. He looked tired and hungry and watched Dean with releved eyes.

"Oh, God. Sammy!" Dean ran over to the table where the chain's keys were. He approached his younger brother. Dean started to unlock the restraints and removed the gag. He noticed Sam was dressed in very childish clothing and could see a bulge from under the overalls he wore. Dean didn't really want to think about what that sick fuck planned on doing to his brother.

"Dean!" Sam collapsed into Dean's arms, his head hitting the eldest brother's chest instantly. Dean hugged back, pulling Sam's head under his chin.

"I've got you, Sammy. I've got you."

Sam couldn't help himself as he let a few tears slip from his eyes.


	11. 11: Free Man

John watched the monster closely, not daring to remove the gun from his forehead. He could only imagine what that sick fuck did to his youngest son. He really didn't want to think about it, either.

"It was fun, while it lasted," David Cherliee coughed, smiling smugly at John, who proceeded to knock the pistol against the man's head.

"You shut the fuck up. You don't get to talk, you monster."

John heard the basement door creek open and looked over, the gun still on Cherliee. Dean carried Sam in his arms in a sort of bridal style. Sam was okay, save for a few bruises and scrapes and the look of a traumatized war hero in his eyes. John could fix this. John could fix things like this, at least that's what he told himself.

Dean gave John the _I'll tell you later when Sam's not around_ look and John nodded, turning back to Cherliee.

"What? You gonna kill me? Do it."

Dean smiled. "No. We're not gonna kill you. He might, though."

Dean gently put Sam down, his bare feet hitting the shag carpet. He wiped a bit of blood from his nose and limped over, watching Cherliee carefully.

"He doesn't have the balls. He's a kid. A kid who probably needs his _diapers_ changed by now," Cherliee taunted.

Sam said nothing, just stood next to his father.

"I'm not going to kill you," Sam said. "That would be too easy."

Cherliee glared. "Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots. Are you gonna call the police?"

Sam smiled. "No. 235, or should I say _Rachael_ , might have a few words for you."

 ***SPN***

Sam had fallen asleep in the back of the Impala, just like old times. They had taken Amanda to the hospital and left without a word, knowing someone would tend to her. As for David, the FBI had been looking for the bastard for a few years. Rachael was also a missing person's case, and Dean was sure her parents would be glad to see her again.

Dean found himself looking back at the youngest Winchester every five minutes, as if to make sure he didn't fall out or something. Sam had changed at the first gas station they saw, which he had been grateful for considering he could feel his inner thighs beginning to chafe. Dean didn't mention the pull-up to Sam, but once he had fallen asleep in his own clothing, he told John.

"That sick fuck. Do you think he..." John trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

"I don't know. Sam had a knife in him though, so it wasn't like the douche wanted to play house. God, this is my fault."

"How is this your fault, Dean?"

"I should have been looking out for him," Dean said softly, looking at anything but his father.

"This isn't your fault. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean answered, but he wasn't sure if he really believed himself.

"Sammy will be okay. He's a tough kid. He learned from the best, right?"

Dean felt his cheeks grow a bit red, but nodded. "Yeah. He did."

 _ **THE END.**_


End file.
